The Refugee Relic
by Eightcrayondon
Summary: AU: An Alternate Universe's Ororo Storm finds herself born into a constant struggle to protect her village from demons. Chapter 5 is up!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is set in an ancient utopian (geographically) world with limited land mass.

I was a foundling and the elders in my village hail me to the pious as a gift from Oya, the goddess of the storm and war. I cannot say that I believe this; I do not find myself divine, however, my powers over the elements are certainly celestial.

My bare feet pound against the foliage, I can barely maintain my grip on this child whose arms and legs are wrapped tightly around me. It would be futile to attempt a stand in the heavy bush; I could easily be surrounded and even with the elements at my beckon the odds do not lean towards my favor.

My name is Ororo, the child is Kasha, hours ago her parents beseeched me to find her and her brother Tamal. The children were missing from their beds in the morning and their parents feared the obvious; the lycanthropes had kidnapped their children. Lycanthropes are men and women who become extremely predatory beasts come nightfall, nothing is more profound than their need to feed. Most of the blood that covers Kasha is not her own; the Lycanthropes were able to kill her brother before I could save them both.

I find myself morbid in the easy acceptance that I would be unsuccessful carrying two children while fleeing these beasts. While I do not find his death advantageous I know that with one trauma stricken child in tow is proving itself to be challenge enough.

_How will I ever face her parents with this failure?_

A lycanthrope lunges toward me, somehow he was able to get in front of me, and I think that I **_won't_** have to face Kasha's parents. The thought isn't finished before my right hand, guided by Oya, reaches out sending the full measure of her power into his body; Kasha gasps, in fear and surprise. The overwhelming flash of lightning has temporarily blinded her; my vision remains unsullied.

I hear the panting of our assailants, yet I am without plan; I cannot return to the village with them in pursuit, the villagers are ill suited for battle. Even with this evident proclamation I doubt that I could make it to my village.

I nearly fall coming to a stop. I can see their luminescent yellow and red eyes in the pitch darkness. They mean to intimidate me with their foreboding stares, the hope is that I'll lose my nerve and attempt retreat. If I were to withdrawal I would lose my offensive advantage and with the distance between the beasts and myself bridged they would be on my back before I could reach full sprint.

"Kasha," I whisper, lowering my mouth to her ear without removing my eyes from our enemies. "I want you to close your eyes, so tightly that it hurts."

True to the nature of the beast they attack me in waves; a number of the lycanthropes hope to see me fallen so as to rush in and feed from my defeated carcass.

The three that close in on me lunge almost simultaneously; an explosion of air empties the space that they had bridged and while supporting Kasha with my left arm I use my right hand to guide my attacks. The night sky is lit up in brief flashes preceding the volleys of lightning.

Kasha trembles violently in my arms when we fall to the ground, a lycanthrope has clawed my right shoulder blade, the pain is dizzying. I land on my back struggling through the vexing agony to finish this fight alive.

Lightning rains down around us, my heart pumps out one shivering beat that feels as though it anticipates itself to be the last.

I come to my knees, finding myself in the eye of the chaotic chain lightning that fries the enemies in my immediate area. Beyond the bedlam the compatriots of the falling watch, snarling and undaunted.

I'm not sure that there is a word that fully appreciates the breadth of my exhaustion; I can scarcely enjoin movement from my very arms. Somehow, to my own bewilderment and with a trembling child in my arms, I am able to summon a hurricane.

My enemies are uprooted, moving at violent speeds in the savagery of my cyclone, and in confounded desperation they reach for trees in an attempt at regaining their footing in this battle.

I choke on my efforts when calling snow and a deadly cold to freeze my enemies.

In the aftermath I remain on my knees for some time, panting, gasping to fill my burning lungs.

Kasha's expression is marked by terror, her eyes are restlessly darting right and left in fear of ambush. I try pulling her away to ascertain any injuries she may have; she shrieks and claws at my skin and garb to stay close to me.

The child's skin is ashen from the rushing cold air; she was able to keep alive by using my unwavering body heat she is not immune as I am.

Abruptly, adrenaline abandons me and my body simply gives out, I have no struggle left in me: I find myself effortlessly defeated by a tidal wave of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Goddess," I whisper tersely under my breath; an alien and insatiable fatigue inebriates me. My eyes are blurred and my mind betrays me, making promises that I will only close my eyes for second.

I feel so heavy pulling myself to my feet and I am wildly irrational; the exhaustion has borne desperate, despondent thoughts that I cannot cull from my psyche.

Kasha is gone.

"Kasha!" I scream, inciting an excruciating headache.

It's after noon and the heat is sweltering even in the shaded areas. I am forced to be practical; it would be futile to search for Kasha in this forest, if I were to find her captured again I would be no help to her and only hinder myself. Although I have not tried, I know my powers to be inaccessible under this physical strain.

I have doubts that this decision is true and cannot deter the overwhelming feelings of failure and probable cowardice. Heroes are not those who fight with the powers of the gods as their weapons. The heroes are the men and women who reach to the sky seeking supplication from the gods, the men and women who take up sticks and swords and face their enemies with nothing gracing their favor besides their skill.

It takes hours for me to reach the fortified stonewalls of my small village; my blows are weak and unsteady against the wooden gates.

I am not surprised to find Mother Shanti at the fore of my greeters, I only manage brief eye contact with Kasha's parents but their expressions are more than enough to tell me that she did not return to them. I collapse into Mother Shanti's arms and she buckles under my weight.

There seems to be no rest for me; I wake to the searing of my own skin. I claw for anything and resist the urge to flee; I doubt that the gods are able to hear Mother Shanti's prayers over my agonized screams.

I doubt the gods exist.

Mother Shanti dashes herbs mixed with fire dust onto the wounds in my shoulder and lowers fire to the concoction.

There is no message in my muffled screams; none other than the expression of my pain; I wonder if Kasha's parent can hear my pain. I wonder if they relish in my karma.

"Hush child," she says, touching my hair and pulling the blanket to cover me best without touching my wounds.

I wonder if my sobs in the wake of the procedure are for Kasha or myself.

It is long after nightfall when I wake and I can hear frenzied shouts and scurrying through the village. I emerge from the hut to pure pandemonium, the village is under attack, and the lycanthropes have somehow scaled the walls.

_Goddess! There must be three-dozen of them!_

I make my way through the crowd, still lax, and groggy; I close my eyes, and the wind begins to whip through my robe. My eyes are white when I open them and I am able to see the world as the gods do in all of its magnificent energy patterns. Lycanthropes have a very different energy signature from regular human beings and adjusting my perceptions helps me to fight them without hurting any villagers.

Both of my hands are raised to the sky, I furrow my eyebrows and intensify my connection to the elements, raising myself above the physical.

I remain stock still through my first few attacks and then I see her; Kasha, changed into an enemy, has fell her own father and her mother watches in bereaved horror. Her hair is short and spotted and most of her features remain true to what she was before yet she is part tiger part human and the tiger's hunger has taken a hold of her.

The muscles in my face twitch and I jump a little when the lightning spikes through Kasha. She does not yield easily while in the throes of my attack; she twitches insanely, wracking against my authority. She finally goes still and I can smell her hair burning.

My vision narrows, as if by instinct and I see Shari, the leader of the lycanthropes, in the distance observing the mayhem. Mother Shanti shakes me and I am forced to deal with her brood.

The fires still burn in the aftermath of the ambush and the men are too thinly stretched to put them out; I am further exhausted but unscathed physically.

Rain pours from the sky at my silent command.

I enter the tribunal hut; the elders have already convened, minus Shanti, whose tasks are healing.

"How dare you enter the tribunal while we are in Order!" Markus screams, approaching me.

Now is not the time to be demure.

"Watch your footing if you plan to battle me old man!"

He does not relent, but what strong leader would?

I parry and position myself beside him, his arm still extended and I deliver a measured jolt of lightning.

Wind begins to whip through the small hut and the cloth whips violently as my robe did earlier. Lightning flashes and dances caressing the outside of my skin; the sky above our village grows dark and the candles die.

There are no requests offered to these power hungry old fools who have controlled me for so long.

"At the end of this lunar cycle, when the moon is full again I will enter the forest and kill Shari and all of her brood and when I am finished I will not return to this village; forsaking you and it's denizens!"

I leave the hut without explanation; I can feel them watching me from its threshold.


	3. Chapter 3

In the sixteen summers that we have shared I have always felt apart from them. They revered me, yet I have found reverence akin to the status of an outcast. The villagers look at me for scarce seconds, quickly averting their eyes as if I am a stranger. When they come to me to wet their lands or save their children they seem unsure that their bond to me warrants my grace.

Since the attack, on the days that I see the elders I cut my eyes at them aggressively, wishing to burn them with my hate. I want to hold them accountable for their decisions.

Shari made me privy to the elders' deceptions that night in the midst of the mayhem; it was a flash that lasted less than a second and in that moment it was as if I remembered things that I am far too young or had not been present to recall. I am no foundling; the elders conquered my village and they, who at that time had not yet inherited this land saw my mother and father fall by their swords.

A seer had told of Oya's homecoming; that she would return to this earth a mortal, a child with an aged mane and eyes the color of her skies. The prophet foretold that the goddess would not deign to bless this village but another. Our elders who were then warlords came for me, leaving no trace of the people who were oncemine.

"I will need ten of the most skilled fighters of this village!" I announce; the villagers have gathered to hear me speak.

"You will not take them!" Markus yells from the bustling crowd that now parts for his approach.

My vision narrows and the skies grow dark, mirroring my anger.

"Go off," he gestures in a shooing manner. "Enjoy your fool's errand but you will not leave this village or its people crippled from your zeal!"

_Old man! _

I can only stand stock still, nearly failing in my practice of temperance; I cannot beat the village's leader to death and expect any allegiance from his men onthe battlefield. My body shivers against my restraint and Iconsider whether or not their allegiance really matters at all.

He stares at me and all that I can do is return his gaze.

I pass him, allowing him to speak to the crowd; I cannot hear him, my mind buzzes with anger.

He lay asleep in his bed and I watch him from a glassless window; his was the first hut to be rebuilt. Almost immediately, I have him straddled, waking him with my hand tightly gripping his throat.

How is it that I have been found so different than the person I thought myself to be: It has become increasingly easy to abuse this tyrant. This man who ripped me savagely from my mothers arms; the only quarter he deemed her worthy of was a swift demise.

My eyes are white fire and I can hardly control myself.

"You took my family from me and you dare contradict me with that on your conscience?" I have leaned mouthclose to his ear, "you think I owe you or your sycophants allegiance? Dare to contradict me again and when I finish with you there will be no worldly proof that you or your line existed!"

My voice quivers; there is a lump in my throat andI silently call out to thegodsfor retribution, yet I cannot cull it's fruition. I lift myself off of him and move for the exit, I pause and turn my head so that he sees my profile.

"My promises are not empty, I will make good on my word, fool." I tell him, standing at the doorway, my left hand resting against the gnarled wood.

_I hope you test me._

Markus, who was once the fiercest warrior of this village, trained me personally, and I wonder if the task was as harrowing for him as my sessions with these men are for me. We are two weeks in and improvements are miniscule; some of the men are simply not warriors at heart.

Shanti approaches and I pretend not to notice; instead I maintain my concentration on training.

"Parry!" I scream, unable to believe their clumsiness. "What are you afraid of man? Strike back!"

"Ororo," her tone is light, almost inaudible.

"Strike back!" I scream again, pretending not to hear her.

"We haven't spoken since the attack."

I turn to her, trying to keep my gaze lazy.

"Much has changed between us since that night," I say dryly, watching my pathetic warriors.

"I understand your …"

"You understand nothing! You knew of my families fate yet you allowed me to love you despite your deception!" I scream; my men stop to watch me, momentarily. "You are lucky that you still live."

"Is that it?" she asks, her eyes are turned to the ground. "Would my death return your love to me?"

"Your death," I say coolly, taking no time to consider the severity of my answer. "Would satisfy the cannons of justice."

"And what of you? Would my death satisfy you?"

"Only vengeance can satiate my thirsty soul, a soul that you and your machinations have left as dry as the lands to the north."

She leaves my side in quiet devastation; her eyes are dry and she accepts my anger but her pain is as evident as white clouds in the skies.

Rahma, one of my men continues to hesitate and I explode, approaching him swiftly. I snatch the stick from his sparring partner.

"Fight back!" I scream, entering my stance and attacking him. "If you continue to take the defense you will never win a battle! Assert yourself! Be aggressive!"

My mood is lightened by his attacks and I smile when he forces meinto the defensive.

"Show me that you are not going into that jungle to die, Rahma. Show me that your children will sleep in their beds and awake unscathed!"

Improvement.

The night air is cool on the eve of our departure; I cannot sleep knowing that tomorrow my journey begins towards death or liberation. I consider that the former and latter could be selfsame.


	4. Chapter 4

In the twenty-eight day lunar cycle the moon is only truly full for one night, however, lycanthropes benefit from its effects for seven nights; including the three before and the three after. On the actual night of the full moon the beasts are at their fiercest, however, their strengths wax and wane on the nights that precede and the nights that follow.

Legends paint lycanthropes as nigh immortal, illustrating specific methods to properly kill them; in my battles these legends have proven themselves to be most probably propaganda purported by their kind. While it is evident that their lifespan far outruns that of humanity; there are no overwhelming tasks involved in the brutal stopping of their hearts.

By the sword, at least, they die as we die.

Passively, Markus makes his position clear to his court and people, my charge does no enjoy his full support. On the eve of definitive battles, tradition calls for a ritual soliciting the favor of Oya, who among other things is also a goddess of war. The fact that these traditions were not recognized and in light of his outburst at the announcement of my mission it rings very clear to the villagers that he does not support my endeavor.

We leave before dawn and I find myself impetuous; any true leader would have trained with her warriors for months for a battle against enemies as seasoned as these. In my fervor to free myself of my deceivers have I damned these men and myself to the mercy of beasts whose hunger grants no quarter?

Our hike is not half finished when Rahma, who had seemed the clumsiest, spins me like a top to face him and stabs me three times, hilt deep.

The wind raises violently at my summons, knocking my men to their backs and whipping furiously at the empty skies above us, but the damage has been done and as abruptly and violently as the winds rose they collapse. I stumble, my right hand outstretched as hollow warning to my hit men and my left grasping wounds, which are not full inches apart.

I fall to my knees then immediately backward onto the dry foliage, my vision becomes almost peripheral; a cloudy blue grey with frayed edges. I can not see them but I hear the steady, seemingly wordless buzz of their conversation and the beginnings of their retreat.

My movements are frantic and begging as I strain fruitlessly for oxygen to replace the blood that fills my lungs. My shivering hand reaches for the ground beneath me to help myself up, to no avail.

It is almost like I am apart from myself, my body has relaxed, no longer wracking against death and only my mind can feel the hampering suffocation. My sight remains and I can see the blanketed skies that look burgundy to my sullied vision.

Her face replaces the scarlet clouds that filled my eye line and I am thankful for her arms that coil beneath me to support my head and neck. Mostly, her crimes are pardoned yet in the throes of death I still find myself wary of her touch.

"I only hope to satiate you, Little Goddess," Mother Shanti whispers to me, inciting a wave of sadness through me. I know that if my body could heed the commands of my mind sobs would overwhelm me.

My vision clears and my body lifts from her arms, vertical and three feet from the ground. Her eyes are illuminated, not unlike the light in my eyes when I call on the elements. There is an expression akin but not identical to shock that flashes across her face at the influx of power and she immediately bows her head; I can scarcely hear her elegy of rapid-fire chants.

She looks up at me and two tendrils of purple and blue light leave her outreached hands, weaving themselves tightly around me, finally bonding with me and entering my body. A silent explosion of white light exits and heals the perforations in my abdomen.

Mother Shanti can only spare a contented look before a small ripple runs across her skin mummifying all that was left in its wake. A visible sigh manages to escape her parted lips; onthis balmy day her final breath can be seen like words in winter.

Her eyes are petrified, her skin dried, looking as fragile as fall leaves; I dare not touch her. I can not summon the culmination of my grief, the gods have afforded me no tears for my matriarch. My sorrow is in full gestalt yet I can not honor this woman with anytangible testament to my mourning and this betrayal only increases my personal credence toward my spirals.

Instinct demands retribution but I am no animal and I reason that all the dues of this village to me were paid by Mother Shanti, not minutes passed.

I stalk towards the lycanthropes, deciding that while I owe Markus and his treachery nothing, Mother Shanti's spirit would only benefit if Shari were no longer a part of this world. My lungs burn in protest to my breakneck pace but I pay them no notice because my intent far surpasses my body's worldly urgings.

It's a few hours before dawn when I reach their village. The majority of this villages inhabitants are not lycanthropes and although I loathe the casualties of war I do not baulk at all in my loyalty toward my directive. Before the Sun radiates the sky this village will burn and while I will try to minimize civilian loss, any who oppose me will not live to tell of the wraith of a goddess.


	5. Chapter 5

Even in their transformed states I can tell that they are sisters, not twins but the likeness is only marginally less uncanny. I unsheathe my rapier, holding a small dagger in my left hand. I was caught unaware while waiting for the lycanthropes to return from their first night of feeding. There will be no histrionics in the use my powers against these two; it would only alert the other beasts of my ambush.

Their attacks are coordinated; it is evident that they have been trained well and that they were trained to fight together. They attack from both sides, weaponless but no less dangerous. The younger of the two evades my blade, leaning backward amazingly close to the ground, lifting her feet, falling onto the palms of her hands for support and swinging her legs behind my own. I land on my back and before I can reclaim the breath that the fall claimed the elder lycanthrope sits on my stomach with her claws gripping my throat, digging shallow cuts.

"Rip her throat out, Feral!" The younger sister demands, lowering her eyes to me. Her stare is dismissive almost as though I am invisible; as though she looks right through me and I do not lay at her feet beneath her sister.

"No," Feral responds, moving her eyes to her sister and immediately back to me. "This is the Stormbringer, mother will want her alive."

The eyes of the younger sister light up in recognition. She studies me, almost hallowed by the identification. I am no longer invisible or unworthy of her expressive gaze.

_Am I a goddess to these people as well?_

Feral slips her free hand beneath my neck, pulling me to my feet, moving quickly behind me. I have no doubt that these girls know my power and have learned from their people to fear me.

We do not move toward the village but Feral leads me at a moderate pace into the brush. The jungle is much thicker than I am used to and I doubt that I would find my way home if that were in fact my destination at the end of these trials.

My eyes adjust to the ground and I consider my brazen pride. Am I a fool to expect to live through the day to seize a life of my own? It is obvious that these girls are leading me to Shari, who no doubt will make a feast of me. Why then do I see a horizon when I have clearly reached the end of the Earth, positioned for a shove into the void?

We arrive at a cave; the sky is lit and moonless but my captors have not become human. I try to dismiss my surprise; I knew that they were different when I first encountered them. Their anatomy is not beast-like and unlike their brethren they stand upright and have an impressive handle on speech while transformed. I wonder if they are in fact transformed or if they are the product of two of the afflicted.

Feral pushes me into the cave and I am arrested by a stifling sensation, it is as though someone is sitting on my chest. The panic is soft, but I am still in its throes, shaken, grasping the ethereal for reprieve.

I do not understand these terrors; I have known them all of my life and sometimes I consider that I was born this way. That the many lots that divinity has asked me to bear proved themselves insufficient, therefore more need be added.

I wrack against the irrational inner pleadings, my mind tells me to flee, to suffer the wounds that Feral would certainly inflict. To die if by chance I could see the open skies once more.

"Thornn?" Feral says squeamishly in response to the thunder that rips through the sky outside, we are deep in the cave, still the lightning radiates the blackened cave for a split second.

"Hurry," Thornn responds, pushing Feral from behind.

I dig my heels in, lamenting my fear but terrified of the enveloping darkness. There is nothing cogent left in me, no reasoning to me that I harbor no fear of what lies behind the darkness; but it is the darkness, the smallness that incites this desperation!

"No further," I say, turning my head to Feral, so that she sees my profile, my tone is pleading but I am beyond pride or regality. I haven't an ounce of conceit left in me.

"You have to kill her!" Thornn yells, demanding my murder again.

Feral only shoves me and I lose care for consequence.

An explosion of air, not unlike the concussive force that follows an explosion, represents my outburst. The sisters slam against the walls of the cave, electricity weaves itself up my arms and I eye them for any sign of attack. I wipe at the superficial wound on my neck.

The blow is true and I am only able to turn to meet a blurred vision of my attacker, a slight girl with the same humanoid form, yet she seems to be crossed with lupine beasts. I lose my balance, falling face down onto the ground, cutting my cheek on the sharp, tiny rocks.

They flip me onto my back, grabbing my feet and dragging me through the tunnels. The werewolf is quiet, but the sisters argue heatedly, the words are muffled by my agony but I know that Thornn argues the merits of killing me while feral champions sparing me for Shari.

We reach a dim lit cavern; the werewolf pulls me to my feet. The heart of the cavern is covered in water; in the dark I cannot tell its depth. Shari stands before an unlit candle, match in hand she lights it and her face is illuminated.

While I had thought the sisters human-like in appearance, this woman is strikingly human: her ears are canine and there is little hair that covers her arms, aside from that, there is nothing physical to bond her to her brethren.

"Greetings Ororo," She says, looking from the flame and across the water to meet my eyes with her own. "I knew that only you could be the cause of such commotion."


End file.
